


Don't Carry It all

by Nokura



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BAMF Ed, Ed is a slytherin, Hogwarts, Hurt Ed, It will have a happy ending I swear, M/M, draco isnt really a bad guy, ed and draco are angsty fwbs, ed just needs a hug, harry and the gang mean well but just don't get it, lonely ed, roy secretly pines, so does ed he just doesn't realise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-13 02:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokura/pseuds/Nokura
Summary: When Ed heals his wounds in Baschool, he miscalculates, and is sent to a different world as payment. Hurt, scared, and out of his depth, he must use every skill he has to get home, with the help of some new found friends.Ed/Draco, eventual Roy/Ed





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this is pretty much what it says on the box. Plot is still in developement, so we'll see how it goes. I hope you all enjoy, and please leave a comment.

Edward blinked his eyes open to blinding light and a piercing ringing noise in his ears. Everything was grey, and blurred, and a dangerous numbness held his body captive. It was the kind of numbness that you can tell is masking something, but Ed’s mind was apparently severely fucking rattled, because he couldn’t seem to be bothered enough to try and figure out what was wrong. He felt like he was… floating on clouds or some shit, empty, ethereal, unattached to reality or to the living. 

 

That was kind of a sobering thought, and Ed realized through all the fog and cobwebs and sluggishness in his useless fucking brain that he needed to snap out of it. Like, pronto. With a concerted effort, ed forced the rusty, clogged up gears into motion, forcing his tired mind to think.  _ Think, Ed! Where are you? What happened? _

With a jolt, it came back to him. The cold, the snow, chasing Kimblee, the fight, falling and then - 

 

Here. 

 

Ed’s mind didn’t need any more prompting, it was instantly up and racing at full capacity, racing, trying to figure out what had happened, and what his next plan of action should be. 

 

His body was still strangely numb, and ed struggled to shift his hands underneath him, trying to lever himself up. He lifted his head, and took in his surroundings. Stark stone walls, and piles of rubble all around. A metal beam dropped from somewhere above and clattered to the floor a few feet away. 

 

“I must’ve fallen down the mine shaft,” he muttered to himself, redoubling his efforts to rise. If he stayed here too long, there was a good chance that the falling rubble would finish Kimblee’s job for him. His body still refused to obey him, and Ed felt anger clenching in his chest. 

 

“Dammit!” He cursed, forcing his unwilling body to rise a few shaky inches. “I can’t let Kimblee get away,” One more shove, and his arms were locked straight against the ground.  _ Nearly there… if he could just get his feet underneath him… _

 

But then he heard the soft patter of liquid falling to the hard floor beneath him, and he tensed. Something thick and sweet and tangy with copper rose up in his throat, and he choked as it dribbled down his chin. For the first time, through the numbness, there came a faint, throbbing pain, filled with deadly promise. Ed steeled himself, although he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what he would find, and turned his head. 

 

A metal beam, nearly as thick as his arm, had embedded itself firmly in his side. The bottom edge was slick with blood from where he had slid along its length as he rose, and more blood was dripping down to join the alarmingly large puddle beneath him. Ed felt himself break out in a cold sweat.

 

_ No… you’re kidding me. You have got to be fucking kidding me.  _ With a strangled cry, he strained upwards, abandoning all logic as a primal terror rose up within him and urged fight, to escape, to  _ get away _ . The pain ripped through him, his limbs gave way, and with a small sob collapsed onto the ground. 

 

As he lay on the ground, his body thrumming with pain, and his limbs weak and trembling, Ed fought to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. He felt so small, and young, and alone, and in that moment he yearned for his mother, for Al, for Winry, even for that goddamn bastard Mustang, anyone to keep him from dying alone and by himself in some piss poor fucking mine in the middle of nowhere. 

 

God, he didn’t want to die. Al would be devastated, and Winry, would cry - hell, he’d like to think that even colonel bastard would shed some tears. After all, they’d grown… closer over the years Ed had spent in his command. 

 

Summoning his last vestiges of strength, Ed slammed his fist into the ground - the flesh one, nice and hard so that he  _ felt _ it. “I won’t make her cry,” he ground out, raising himself inch by agonising inch. “Especially not over something this  _ stupid!” _ He lifted himself just enough to slap his flesh palm to the metal one, and then to the beam through his back, which broke into two pieces, flying of in different directions. Ed collapsed once more to the ground, touching his hands once more, before sending a transmutation rushing through the floor to free Kimblee’s two chimera henchmen. 

 

The two grunts rose slowly, brushing themselves off as the made their way towards Ed. 

 

“Damn,” one of them grumbled. “Kimblee’s gonna pay…”

 

They paused in front of Eds prone form, taking in the blood, his side rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. 

 

“Hey, Fullmetal kid. You still alive? What made you decide to rescue us?”

 

“You’re more injured than we are.”

 

Ed took a slow laboured breath, and forced out words past the blood cloying in his throat. “Don’t get the… wrong idea…” A few more breaths, and the two men drew closer, kneeling at his side to better hear his feeble voice. “I can’t pull this out of my stomach on my own.” He could feel himself fading, and fast. He needed to get this done quickly. “I could use… a little help…”

 

Kimblee’s henchmen seemed taken aback. “We were enemies not five minutes ago, and now you’re asking us to save your life?”

 

“Yeah, basically.”

The two exchanged looks again, and seemed to come to an agreement. “Well, it’s not like we were given orders to kill you…” The world was losing its focus again, but Ed felt himself being dragged upright against a large, burly chest. “Come on.”

 

He made out the vague, swimming form of the other henchman kneeling in front of him. “You know kid, you’re gonna bleed to death pretty quick once I pull this out.”

 

Ed grit his teeth. He did know, but he didn’t really have another choice. “Not if I heal it.” he spat. “As soon as it’s out of me I’ll close up the wound with Alchemy.”

 

“What? Have you ever performed any kind of medical alchemy before?”

 

“Sort of. I did some research on it, when I tried human transmutation.” Ed wished the guy would stop asking all these questions and just  _ get on with it  _ already. It’s not like waiting and talking it out was gonna make the actual deed hurt any fucking less. 

 

But now it was the one holding him up’s turn to speak.  “Just some research? Your guts’re gonna be all messed up. You’re gonna need a philosopher’s stone to make this work.”

 

Ed’s eyes had fallen closed, but now he opened them, and raised his head to glare at the figure in front of him. “I’m going to have to use my own life force. The same way I would use a stone.” The sharp cough that forced it’s way up from his lungs mingled gasps from the two men. “It’ll probably take a few years off my life span though…”

 

“You’re positive?” The voice seemed unsure, as if the man in front of him actually gave a fuck about Ed’s wellbeing.  

 

Ed grit his teeth. “I don’t really have time to think about it. If this is really what showing mercy is gonna cost me, then I have to learn to pay the price, right?”

 

The shape in front of him sighed, and blurred some more. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it sounds like you’re sure.” Ed felt something settle on the end of the rod, and stifled a groan. “Ready?”

 

Ed managed a smile, and a grin, and then he closed his eyes. There was a moment, he drew in a breath, let it slip back out, and then raised his hands above the wound. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

 

_ I’ve gotta picture myself as a single mass of energy -  _ ripping, tearing pain, coursing through his whole body, overwhelming,  _ I can’t I can’t, god it hurts  _ \- distantly he heard someone scream, and he knew it was himself -  _ use the energy, just like the stone  _ \- more screams, and the agony grew and grew and  _ grew - that’s it! I’m  a philosopher’s stone that’s powered by a single soul -  _ the pain tore through him, and Ed felt himself waver on the edge of unconsciousness, his screams climbing to a louder and louder pitch -  _ remember what it felt like, in that moment, remember how it felt to use souls! To harness life -  _ a clap, his hands moved on instinct to cover the gaping hole in his stomach, a rush n energy, a flare of blue, and - 

 

\--------

 

Whiteness. Nothing.

 

A familiar, eerie voice.

 

_ “Well, Mr. Al-che-mist. Fancy meeting you here.” _

 

Ed whirled around, and found himself face to face with the gate of truth, and the small white figure sitting before it. 

 

“Wh-what? Why am I here? It should have worked, it should have-”

 

_ “Now hush hush you silly boy. You still haven’t learned? Human transmutation comes with a price, no matter how small the act…” _

 

Ed felt dread wash over him.  _ Human transmutation? _ He hadn’t even considered that possibility, he’d assumed that a part of his soul in exchange for his life was enough, but apparently he had been wrong. What’s more, even here, in this strange white plain, he could feel that he had not fixed the wound entirely, only patched it up long enough to buy him some time. He could already feel himself wavering.

 

“What are you going to do to me?” He asked, voice small and childlike as it echoed of the vast expanse of emptiness around him. 

 

The truth laughed.  _ “Why, nothing much. I’m going to send you on a little journey, somewhere far, far away. Somewhere your little rule of ‘Equivalent Exchange’ does not apply. I think you’ll quite like it there…” _

 

And before Edward could even open his mouth to ask what the Truth meant, where the hell he was sending him, and how the fuck Ed was supposed to get back, he was gone, and Ed was standing on doorstep of prim white house, sort of like those in the nicer areas of Central, where Mustang lived, and the light was quickly fading away to night. For a brief moment, he lit up with hope. Maybe, the Truth had miscalculated. Maybe - 

 

And then his legs collapsed beneath him, and he tumbled  the flagstones, unconscious. 

 

\------

 

The following morning, Harry Potter opened the door to Number 4 Privet Drive, and found the unconscious figure of a boy, about his age, collapsed on the front step.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed is found by Harry, who spends the day fretting and wondering, before Dumbledore arrives to whisk the two away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter isn't very plotty, but that will come, in time. I hope you enjoy, and please drop a comment.

Harry was not the type to swear often, but that is exactly what he did when he opened the door in the morning to find a body sprawled across the doorstep. 

 

“Fuck,” he said, the word strange and clumsy on his tongue, pronounced with perfect enunciation and intention. He blushed - he hadn’t meant to let that slip out - and glanced furtively up and down the street to see if anyone had noticed. It was early though, the first slivers of light just peeking over the horizon, and no one else seemed to be up. Letting out a sigh of relief, Harry turned his attention back to the problem at his feet. 

 

The figure was lying on it’s stomach, and in the feeble dawn light Harry couldn’t make out more than a splash of crimson, and the bright blond of the figure’s hair. He knelt, and carefully reached out to roll the figure over. It was heavy, surprisingly so, and Harry had to resort to a forceful shove to get the body onto it’s back. The right hand flopped to pavestones with a harsh, metallic  _ clang _ , and Harry was shocked to see that it gleamed in the half-light, as if made from metal. But there was no time for that now, because Harry’s attention had been drawn to the hard, dry substance crusted all over the left side of the person’s coat. Closer examination revealed it to be blood, and a lot of it, and Harry drew back from the body with a startled gasp, flicking his eyes upwards towards the face.

 

It was a boy. 

 

It was a boy who looked like he couldn’t possibly be any older than Harry himself, face pale and drawn, with more dried blood tracking down the sides of his mouth and his chin. Harry felt himself go cold all over. What had happened to this boy to cause this much blood loss. He could tell from the slow, shallow rise and fall of the boy’s chest that he was still alive, but Harry didn’t know for how much longer. He needed get to the wound hidden beneath all the layers of crusted blood and fabric, but he couldn’t do that out here. 

 

He sent another furtive glance up and down the street, and then cajoled the boy into his arms. Standing was a struggle - how in the hell could someone so small weigh so  _ much -  _  and laboriously made his way inside and up the stairs, careful to move quietly so as not to wake the Dursleys. Each step he took up the stairs was a battle, Harry’s arms were straining and his lungs were burning, but he made it to his bedroom, gently nudged the door open with his foot, and staggered inside. Depositing the boy onto his bed. He winced thinking about the mess he’d have to clean up later. 

 

Harry turned the light on, and got his first proper look at the boy. He had long, blond hair, a deeper and richer shade of gold than Harry had ever seen before, tan, underneath his current pallor. He wore a thick red coat with a fur lined hood, over top black underclothes, and in the light the dark stain of blood on his side stood out starkly. Swallowing nervously, Harry began carefully peeling back the coat, first from one arm, then the other. This brought him into contact with the strange hand, and it  _ was _ made of metal. Incredibly intricate, like absolutely nothing Harry had seen before. It didn’t look like anything the muggles could make, and it certainly wasn’t magic, and Harry was left wondering where it possibly could have come from. Again, Harry shook himself out of his wonder, and focused on the task at hand. He’d never find out where the hand had come from if the boy was dead. 

 

He debated on whether or not to try and pull the coat from out under the boy, and decided to leave it for now. The faster he could get to the wound, and the less he moved the boy in the process, the better. Probably. The coat out of the way, Harry moved on to the short black jacket underneath, which was fastened by some sort of strange metal clasp at the throat. A few seconds of tinkering and the clasp opened, and Harry slipped that jacket off as well. Now all that was left was a thin black tank top, but once again, Harry was stopped in his tracks. Because it wasn’t just the hand that was metal, it was the boy’s  _ entire arm. _ It was beautiful, in a sort of cold, terrible way, smooth planes of metal twisted into the contours of a human arm, a strong, rounded shoulder, and then a mess of bolts and twisted, ugly scars where the limb met his flesh. Harry felt slightly sick to his stomach, but upon closer examination, it didn’t seem to be any sort of a problem. It seemed fully healed, and the scars looked old, very old. Given the boy’s apparent age, Harry didn’t really want to consider how old they might be. Instead, he turned back to the tank top. 

 

He fetched a pair of scissors from his desk, and with a quick muttered “Sorry,” cut into the shirt, slicing it smoothly from hem to neck, and pulling aside the fabric. He found the source of the blood right away, a massive gnarled scar on the boy’s side, as if he had been impaled by something very large, and then used an incredibly unskilled spell to try and stitch it back together. Harry examined it for a minute, raised the boy up slightly to find a matching puncture wound out the back, but determined that there wasn’t really anything he could  _ do _ about it, apart from clean the boy up, and make him as comfortable as he could until he awoke. 

 

He carefully extracted the coat and jacket, as well as the remains of the tank top, from underneath the boy, and set them on a chair in the corner. As he turned back to the bed, his eyes fell once again on the letter resting on his bedside table. Dumbledore was coming this evening. He would know what to do. Harry just had to hold out until then. 

 

\--------------

 

Evening found Harry slumped against the window, watching the street outside. It was only 9:36, but Harry had been checking the clock and the street outside every few minutes since seven. He’d been disbelieving of the fact that Dumbledore was really coming since he had first gotten the owl a few days before, but now he had even more reason to hope that the man really did show up. He had cleaned the blood of of the boy’s truthfully very fit body as best as he could, pulled off his pants and boots - revealing that his left leg was made of the same mysterious technology as his arm - and dressed him in one Dudley’s old, oversized shirts. The boy’s body was littered in scars, head to toe, and Harry could tell that wherever he was from his life had not been easy. But wrapped up in the oversized shirt, with Harry’s covers pulled up over his chest, he looked very young, and peaceful. 

 

Harry had spent most of the day wondering about the boy, frequently checking in on him between chores, and hoping he wouldn’t wake while Harry was out of the room. The last thing he needed was an injured stranger stumbling into the Dursleys’ sitting room. But so far, the boy had remained unconscious and unresponsive, save the occasional small twitch or groan. A few times he had become restless, his eyes shifting rapidly beneath their lids, but he had quickly settled again. 

 

After a day of constant worrying and wondering, Harry was exhausted, and his eyes began to slip shut. He struggled a bit, trying to stay awake -  _ Dumbledore was coming -  _ but it was a losing battle, and soon his eyes slipped shut, and his face slid down along the window. 

 

He was woken roughly an hour later by a strangled groan, and a series or sharp, hacking coughs. Blearily, he blinked his eyes open, trying to process what was happening. His eyes fell on the bed, and the figure on it, and then he was quickly jumping to his feet and rushing over. The boy was awake, curled up and clutching his side, trembling as coughs wracked his frame. There was a small patch of blood on the pillow next to his mouth, and his skin was gleaming with sweat. Harry reached out a tentative hand, and as soon as it came in contact with the boy’s shoulder, he felt his whole body tense. The boy’s eyes snapped up to his, and Harry felt himself freeze. They were just as shockingly gold as the boy’s hair, clouded over with pain, but still full of fire, and feverishly bright. Speaking of… the boy’s shoulder under Harry’s hand was burning up, and Harry could see sweat matting the boy’s hair. The boy was holding perfectly still, breathing heavily and staring at Harry, an animal sort of terror in his eyes. Harry slowly knelt, keeping his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

 

“Hi,” he began, unsure of exactly what to say.”I’m Harry. I… found you, on my doorstep this morning. You’ve been asleep all day, but it seems like you’ve developed a fever.”

 

There was no response. Harry tried again.

 

“Can you… Can you tell me your name?”

 

This time, the boy answered, his voice strained and thin, a single syllable.

 

“Ed.”

 

Well that didn’t seem like a particularly strange name. It was certainly muggle, but not at all unusual, and Harry felt himself wondering for what felt like the thousandth time that day where exactly this boy had come from. 

 

“Well Ed,” Harry said, careful to keep his voice steady under the boy -Ed’s - penetrating stare. “There’s a man coming very soon who’s going to be able to help you, but for right now, I’m going to get you a wet cloth for your forehead, alright?”

Harry wasn’t sure the boy even understood him, but he mumbled something that seemed like and affirmative, and so Harry stood, letting his hand fall from the boy’s shoulder. 

 

“Try not to move around too much while I’m gone, okay?”

 

There was no response, Ed’s eyes had slipped shut as soon as Harry removed his hand, and so Harry quickly made his way down the hall and into the bathroom. He snagged a wash cloth from the shelf, and ran it under the faucet, rang it out a bit, and then headed back to his room. Ed appeared to be asleep again, so Harry gently wiped down his face, then pushed his bangs out of the way and settled the washcloth across his forehead. He stepped away, and went to settle back into his chair when the streetlight outside his window went out. His breath caught. Could it be…?

 

A moment later the doorbell rang, and Vernon dursley voice issued from below. 

 

“Who the blazes is calling at this time of night?”

 

Harry flew from the room and down the stairs, landing neatly in front of the door just in front of his flustered uncle. He wrenched it open, and before Dumbledore could speak a word,he interjected.

 

“Sir I need your help very urgently. It’s really something of an emergency.”

 

Dumbledore looked down at him with an air of amusement, taking in his flushed face and heaving chest. 

 

“Why of course, Harry. What’s the matter?”

 

Harry paused to suck in a large breath, then spoke. “It’s upstairs, sir. In my bedroom.”

 

“Well,” Dumbledore spoke, his tone light and easy as he stepped past Harry into the hall. “I shall follow your lead then.” He tipped his head politely towards a shocked uncle Vernon, who had been joined by an equally shocked Petunia, the two of them staring dumbly as Harry led Dumbledore up the stairs. Dudley had peaked his head around the hallway at the top to see what the fuss was about, and he hastily withdrew with a sort of aborted squeaking noise as the too passed. Harry rushed to his bedroom door, and flung it open, pointing towards Ed, still buried under covers on the bed. 

 

“I found him on the doorstep this morning, sir.” Harry spoke frantically, as Dumbledore entered and made his way over to the bed. “It looks like he was injured quite badly, and someone tried to patch it up with magic, but they did a rather poor job, but I can’t tell how much damage is left because it’s all on the inside.”

 

Dumbledore had drawn even with the bed, and was scrutinizing the boy very thoroughly. “I see. Could you please show me the wound, Harry?”

 

Harry quickly obliged, drawing back the blankets and pulling up the shirt to reveal the angry red knot of scar tissue on Ed’s abdomen. Dumbledore made a small hissing noise, and bent closer to the wound, pulling out his wand. He waved it a few times, muttering spells too low for Harry to hear, and occasionally tapping the tip of the want to the wound. After a few moments, he straightened.

 

“You are right, Harry, there is a considerable bit of damage left to heal. I have done what I can, but the healing arts have never been my strong point. This rather changes my plans for the evening…” He trailed off, looking thoughtful, Then turned to Harry. “We shall take this boy to the burrow, where Mrs. Weasley will far better equipped to care for him than I. I shall send an owl to Madame Pomfrey, and then I have one more errand I’d like you to accompany me on. How does that sound?”

 

“Sure, sir.” Harry replied, despite his answer feeling very unsure. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of leaving Ed alone, even though he knew that Mrs. Weasley was capable, and he’d probably be more hindrance than help if he stayed. Dumbledore nodded, and then stooped and lifted Ed as if he weighed no more than a feather.

 

“Harry, if you would take my arm please?”

 

Harry did, and Dumbledore turned on his heel, and with an awful, vacuumous sucking sensation, they were gone. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ed begins to figure out what has happened to him, and is not at all pleased. At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another pretty boring chapter... We gotta set the scene before we get to the good stuff! But fear not, the good stuff will come, in time.

Ed awoke to the sound of voices. The were talking, quiet but with urgency, somewhere nearby, but strangely distant sounding. His mind felt strange and cottony, and he struggled to remember where he was, or what had happened. All he could come up with were vague impressions of pain and disorientation, and a flash of concerned green eyes. 

He recognized that he was getting nowhere with his thoughts, and so he turned his attention to the voices, trying to interpret their words. There were two voices, a flustered sounding woman, and calm old man, who seemed to be trying to calm the woman’s agitation.

“But where did he come from, Albus?” The woman’s voice asked, high and slightly alarmed.

The man, Albus, Ed supposed, replied softly. “We do not know, Molly. Harry says he found him on the doorstep this morning. The only information he could get out of him is that his name is Ed.”

The woman’s voice came again, taking on a motherly edge. “The poor dear. Did you get a look at the state of his body? All those scars! And those monstrous limbs, I’ve never seen anything like them, Not to mentions the nasty piece of work that that wound in his side is…”

And with a rush, it all came back. Kimblee, the mine collapsing, The agony of wrenching the beam out of his stomach, Truth, the gate, and then the doorstep of a plain white house. He forced his eyes open, colors and shapes swimming before his eyes before solidifying. He was in some sort of bedroom, small and cramped, with an assortment of oddments tacked onto the walls and piled on shelves all around. Turning his head slightly, he managed to take in the two people, still in animated conversation, standing in the corner. The woman - had it been Molly? - was plump and red-headed, wearing a colorful crocheted sweater and an apron. The man was tall and somewhat stooped, with long grey hair and a beard, wearing a ridiculous pointed hat and some sort of a dress. 

Ed tried to speak, to get there attention, but all that came out was a mortifyingly pitiful moan. The two in the corner quickly turned at the noise, and upon seeing his open eyes, the woman immediately rushed over, kneeling at his side and feeling his forehead. The man took a few steps closer to the bed, but hung back, looking down at Ed with a slightly concerned, but generally serene expression. 

There was something about the old man that intrigued Ed, but he was drawn away from his contemplation as the woman began to talk. 

“How are you feeling, dear?” She asked. “You’re fever’s broken nicely, but I think it’s best you stay in bed for now. Is there anything i can get you to make you more comfortable.?”

For a moment, Ed saw Trisha kneeling over him, and he swallowed hard to force back the tears that threatened to spill. God, why did he turn into such a pathetic sap when he was injured. After a moment, he conjured up the strength to conjure up a few words.

“Water,” and as an afterthought, “please.”

The woman smiled kindly. “Of course dear. I’ll go and fetch you a glass of water, and you just stay right here until I’m back, alright?”

She bustled out of the room, and Ed was left with only the strange old man to keep him company. Now that the woman was gone, he moved over to the chair by Ed’s bedside, settling himself down and looking at Ed with a smile. 

“I must say, Ed - it is Ed, yes?” Ed summoned the energy for a small nod. “Well Ed, you gave us quite the scare. I must say, I’ve seen my fair share of strange happenings over the years, but I’ve never had someone appear quite as suddenly or mysteriously out of nowhere as you.”

Ed gave no reply, keeping his gaze trained on Albus, taking in his every move. Albus continued. 

“I don’t suppose you remember how you ended up on Mr. Potter’s doorstep?”

Ed let out a sigh - it really was a bit too early in the recovery process for an interrogation, at least in his opinion - and then cleared his throat. 

“It’s a long story,” he said, voice still weak and hoarse. “I made a mistake, I paid the price, now I’m here.”

Albus, seeming to sense his unwillingness to disclose more, leaned back in his chair, eyes thoughtful. “I see. Well, although that is admirably vague and befuddling, I won’t pry anymore for now. I can see you need to recover, and I have some urgent business to attend.” He rose, and took a few steps towards the door, before turning back to Ed once more. “I shall be seeing you again, Ed. We have much to discuss.” And with a twinkle of his eye, he was gone. 

Ed sat about the task of levering himself into an upright position, wincing at the dull stab of pain that shot through his abdomen. As soon as he was propped against the pillows, he set about examining himself. He was wearing an oversized cotton night shirt, decidedly not his own, which meant that these people had taken off his old clothes, and thus had seen his automail. He hiked up the hem of the shirt, and took his first look at the damage the beam had done to him. He winced sharply. It was ugly, there was no other way about it. Rough and red and gnarled, Ed could tell that it would remain a vicious and permanent mark on his body. 

Letting the shirt drop back down, Ed leaned back and let out a sigh, It’s not like it would make a difference, he was already scarred beyond the point of return, what was one more. This new scar certainly wouldn’t be the tipping point between “acceptable looking human” and “horrifying freak of nature.” That point had been reached a long time age. Edwards had accepted, the first time he saw his new body with its harsh lines of steel and ugly, angry scars, that no one would ever find him beautiful, and that was fine. He didn’t have time to worry about something as trivial as sex or romance, not with everything that was at stake. Speaking of which…

He had to figure out where he was, and how to get home. The people here spoke with an accent he had never encountered before, and their way of dress was equally unfamiliar. And then there was what Truth had said, about sending Ed to a place where the law of Equivalent Exchange didn’t apply… Ed had a bad feeling about this. 

At that moment, the redheaded woman, Molly, reentered, followed by an older, kindly looking woman with grey hair tucked under a white cap. Molly gave Ed a warm smile, before carefully handing over the cup, making sure that Ed’s shaky hands had a solid grasp before letting go. 

“Here,” she said. “Drink up.” She looked at him expectantly, and Ed did as he was told, greedily draining the cup, and closing his eyes in relief as the cool liquid soothed his dry throat. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, sending Molly a grateful look. 

She beamed. “Of course, dear. Now, this is Madame Pomfrey, the Nurse at hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She’s here to take a look at you.”

Ed’s brain seemed to stall. Witchcraft and Wizardry? No, it can’t be… He realized he was gaping, and quickly sought to put together words. “Witchcraft… and Wizardry?” He asked, voice cracking slightly with anxiety. “Are you shitting me?”

The two witches seemed taken aback by his reply, although Ed couldn’t be sure if it was because of his question, or the words with which he had phrased it. He suspected it was a bit of both. 

The older witch, Madame Pomfrey, as Molly had called her, seemed to recover first. “I assure you we are not… shitting you, as you so eloquently put it. Have you really never encountered magic before? I can sense your magical core from here.”

“My magical - what?” Ed felt panic starting to claw it’s way up his throat. This could not be happening. Ed new, with a certainty, that there was no such thing as magic in his world. He would have found out about it during his travels. So he was in a place where there was magic… well, he was a very, very long way from home. From Al, and Winry. From Roy.

He took several sharp gasping breathes, and clenched his fists into the sheets. His eyes burned, and he tried desperately to blink back tears. 

“Fuck.” He whispered, uncaring that the two women flinched back, and then louder “Fuck!”

He buried his hand in his hair, tears running down his face, and shoulders heaving. He could see, he couldn’t breath, he was in a whole different fucking world, and how the fuck was he supposed to get back, when he didn’t know the rules, when he knew nothing about the place he was in or the people who lived there, when didn’t have his rank and connections, and - 

A hand settled tentatively on his shoulder and he jerked, violently, springing away from the touch. The transmutation came instinctively, and the next thing he knew he was crouched defensively on the other side of the bed, his automail blade held up protectively, and a searing pain in his side. The two women looked both shocked and terrified, and Ed hastily lowered his arm, choosing instead to wrap it around his stomach, crumpling to his knees as the world became temporarily fuzzy with pain. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed to gasp out. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright,” came Madame Pomfrey’s voice, cool and collected, making it’s way towards hims. A few footsteps, and the rustle of fabric as she knelt. May I touch you, Ed? It is Ed, correct?”

“Yeah - yeah, you can touch me, it’s fine, I’m sorry I just…”

“Shh, it’s alright. Let me help you back to the bed.”

And then thin but remarkably sturdy hands were pulling Ed to his feet, and he made his hobbling way over to the bed, and settled back down against the pillows. Molly stood by the bedside, fiddling nervously with a long piece of wood, looking as if she wanted to help, but didn’t know how. Madame Pomfrey readjusted Ed’s blankets and pillows, and then seated herself in the chair by his bedside. 

“Molly, could you give us a moment alone?”

Molly nodded, and quickly scurried out of the room, casting a last worried glance over her shoulder before departing. 

Ed and Madame Pomfrey sat in silence for a while, Ed too humiliated to look at her, his thoughts still whirling around her head. Finally, Madame Pomfrey broke the silence. 

“Is Ed short for anything?” she asked, tone inquisitive, but gently. 

Ed took a deep breath. “Edward. Elric.” There was no reaction. She had never heard of him. 

“Well, Mr. Elric,” Madame Pomfrey continued, “Albus Dumbledore - you met him, he was the old man who was with you when you awoke - asked me to come and see you. As I said before, I am the nurse at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I am quite well versed in the healing arts. Albus informed me that you seem to have suffered a very grave wound. May I take a look at it?”

Ed nodded, still not meeting her eyes, and wordlessly reached down to tug up the hem of his shirt. Madame Pomfrey gasped sharply, and Ed felt a sudden, powerful rush of shame. 

“Dear lord,” madame Pomfrey exclaimed. “My dear boy what happened to you.”

Ed let out a shaky laugh. “A lot of shit. But most recently, I got skewered by a beam in a collapsing mine.”

Madame Pomfrey looked horrified and vaguely ill, but she simply pressed her lips tightly together and bent over Ed to inspect his wound. After a moment of looking at it, she drew out a thin piece of wood, similar to the one Molly had held earlier, and tapped it gently against the scarring, muttering a few words under her breath. Finally she withdrew.

“Well, while whatever you did to seal the wound probably saved your life, it certainly made a mess of your insides. However, you’re in luck. I have a few potions you can take, and some spells i can perform, and you should be right as rain by the end of the week, provided you don’t overexert yourself like so many young people seem to do.”

She sent him a pointed look, and Ed felt himself shrivel under her scrutiny. He managed a meek nod.

“That would be great, thanks.”

The witch simply nodded and hummed in agreement, and set about pulling various bottles from her pockets. Far more bottles than should have been able to fit. Finally, she pulled out a small cup, and filled it from one of the bottles - “Drink this” - and then another, and then finally a third, and he was done. 

“Now lie back,” Madame Pomfrey instructed. Ed did as he was told, carefully shifting down against the pillows until he was flat on his back. Madame Pomfrey began once again muttering spells and waving her stick in the air, and Ed felt a cool tingling sensation rushing through him, coalescing around the wound in his stomach. It was… not unpleasant, and Ed soon felt himself growing tired, and starting to drift away. It occurred to him, briefly, that the nurse had probably drugged him, and then everything faded away.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed and the gang meet, and Ed's past and origins are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter seeks to fix some of the problems I frequently have with other FMA/HP fic I've read. Namely, Ed's need to be so damn secretive about his past, origins, etc. In my thinking, Ed is clever enough to know that he'll do better with the help of experienced wizards who know way more about magic than he'll be able to pick up in a few months, and also the whole secrecy thing I feel just sort of stunts his ability to form actual relationships with the characters in HP, because he's constantly lying to them, and he never tells them anything about himself. 
> 
> A lot of fics also make t so that the only person who does get any sort of inside info is Dumbledore, which again I feel like isolates Ed for his peers, so I thought it would be fun if he actually revealed everything to the gang before Dumbledore hears a peep about it.

The following morning Ed awoke feeling strangely well-rested - to be honest, better rested than he had for years. He opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light streaming through the windows, and took a moment to revel in simply laying there. When was the last time he had spent the night in a warm, comfortable, presumably safe bed? He was used to the hard beds, biting cold, and aching ports that came with the privilege of staying at Briggs, and right now the bed he was in was like a cloud of ward fluff. He’d be happy to stay here for the rest of his life.

 

Except he wouldn’t, though, because  _ this wasn’t his world, _ and he had to figure out how to get back to his. But for five more minutes, he could lay here. Five more minutes, and then he would haul his sorry ass out of bed, and go explore the rest of the house. Talk to the people, figure out as much as he could about this world, and come up with a plan of action. 

 

And, he thought, as his stomach gave a loud, angry grumble, get some food. 

 

\--------

 

Harry was enjoying a cheerful breakfast with the Weasleys. His trip with Dumbledore last night had been… intriguing. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to make out of Slughorn, but he seemed like a nice enough sort of person. Afterwards, Dumbledore had returned him to the burrow, letting Mrs. Weasley usher off to bed. He had heard the two murmuring in the hall afterwards, although he could only catch bts and pieces of what they were saying. Mrs. Weasley had talked very animatedly, and Harry had caught the words scars, trauma, afraid, and Ed, so he figured they were talking about the strange boy. He had been too tired to think on it for long, though, and had quickly drifted to sleep, and then awoken the next morning to a loud  _ bang _ as his door was flung open.

 

He blinked groggily, fumbling at the bedside for his glasses. “What - “

 

“Harry!” Came a familiar voice, accompanied by a shock of red hair and a face full of freckles. “We had no idea you were here yet! When’d you get in?”

 

“Last night,” Harry replied, pushing himself up against the pillows. Ron stood at the side of the bed, looking like an excitable puppy as he grinned from ear to ear. Hermione stood just behind him, her arms crossed over her sweatered chest, and a much calmer smile on her face. 

 

He told them about his visit with Slughorn, and then Ginny appeared and informed him that Fleur Delacour was staying with them, and was set to marry Bill Weasley sometime next summer. Ron seemed absolutely enamoured, and the girls couldn’t seem to stand her guts. Said young woman swooped in with a tray of food and a disgruntled Mrs. Weasley, and Harry felt like he was right back in the fourth year again. There was just something about Fleur that made Harry unable to make proper use of his tongue, and everything he said came out mumbled and distracted. It didn’t help that she kept kissing him on the cheek. 

 

The aftermath of her brief visit left Ron in a daze, and Hermione and Ginny both in quiet rages. Harry was mostly just amused by the whole situation. As well as… strangely  _ drawn _ to Ginny. She was quite pretty, Harry noticed, and the way her slight angry flush made her eyes glow did something strange to Harry’s stomach. He shook it off, and turned to the food, which was, as expected, delicious. 

 

The conversation turned to Sirius, which Harry desperately wished it  _ wouldn’t, _ and then Mrs. Weasley was back, pulling Ginny downstairs with her. With her gone, they turned to the subject of the prophecy, and Harry revealed everything that Dumbledore had told him at the end of the last school year. His friend sadness and concern was a bit hard to take, but Harry had had a whole summer to d=come to terms with the prophecy, and so he took it in stride. 

 

“And, well there’s one more thing i have to tell you too about.” Harry said. Ron and Hermione leaned in, curious. “Yesterday morning I found a boy on my doorstep, passed out and really hurt. Dumbledore brought him here for the time being.”

 

Ron leaned back, eyes wide. “Blimey. Do you have any idea who he is?”

 

Harry shook his head. “Not really. He said his name was Ed, but that’s all I got out of him. He was pretty out of it. And he had this wicked metal arm, like nothing I’d ever seen.”

 

Hermione looked a slightly horrified. “A metal arm? Like, a prosthetic?”

 

“But not like anything I’ve seen. It was way beyond anything the muggles have come up with, but it definitely wasn’t anything magical either. It looked like it connected to his actual body!”

 

Both Ron and Hermione looked a mixture of fascinated and unnerved. 

 

“I wonder where he came from…” Ron trailed off, and a silence stretched between them. Harry was struck by how  _ complicated _ his life had become. It was all a bit overwhelming. 

 

Hermione broke the silence. “Oh!” She exclaimed. “Didn’t Dumbledore say our owls were coming today?” And with that she was gone, racing out of the room, the clatter of her feet on the stairs drifting back behind her. Ron and harry shared a look, a fond, laugh, and then started down after her.

 

\-------------

 

After Ed’s five minutes were up, he carefully sat up, amazed that there was barely any pain at all. A quick check of his wound showed it looking much better, the scars already fading, looking like they were a month old, and not just a day. 

 

Someone had left a stack of clothing on the chair by his bedside, a simple tee shirt and long pants, and Ed swapped out his night shirt. He was pleasantly surprised to see that the clothing fit him rather well, although he had no socks, so both his automail arm and foot were exposed. Ah well, the people in this house had already seen both of them anyway. It’s not like hiding them at this point would make them forget. 

 

Ed slipped into the hallway, found the stairs, and headed their way. He padded down the old wooden steps, wincing at the dull clanking of his automail foot, and found himself the object of every person in the kitchen’s stare. He paused awkwardly at the bottom of the staircase, and for the moment the two parties stood in silent contemplation of each other. There was Molly, the kindly woman from the night before, as well as two redheaded children, a boy and a girl, who would seem to be her parents. A pretty girl with bushy brown hair had stopped her pacing to look at him, and was wringing her hands in apparent distress. The last person on the room was a boy, a head taller than Ed, but quite scrawny, with an unruly shock of black hair, and piercing green eyes behind comically round glasses. He seemed… oddly familiar. 

 

Ed took a few steps forward, and all eyes went to his foot as it clanked particularly loudly on the floor. He heard a muffled gasp from one of the girls, and winced sharply. He hated the attention his automail drew.

 

“Hi,” he began, unsure of exactly what to say. Eventually he settled simply for “I’m Ed. Edward Elric. Thank you for taking care of me.” And he meant it. There was a very good chance he might be dead if not for these people. 

 

Molly smiled. “Of course, Ed dear. I’m Molly Weasley - you can call me Molly, or Mrs. Weasley, whatever suits you - and these are two of my children, Ron and Ginny.” She indicated the redheaded boy and girl. The boy waved back awkwardly. The girl just stared, a slight flush on her cheeks. Molly continued. “This is Hermione Granger - “ Here she indicated the bushy haired girl, who had resumed pacing and didn’t look up - “And this is Harry Potter.” The room seemed to hold it’s breath as Ed took in the last boy, with the green eyes and glasses, as if expecting some kind of reaction. 

 

“It’s nice to meet you all.” Ed said. It was as if the room let out a collective sigh of relief - Ed would have to ask what that had been about later - and then Molly was bundling him into a seat at the table.

 

“How are you feeling, Ed? Can I get you anything to eat? Something to drink?”

 

Ed smiled weakly. “That would be great, thanks.”

 

Molly set about waving her wooden stick - if what they said about magic was true, it was probably a wand - and Ed tried not to stare too hard as she appeared to pull food out of thin air. How the  _ hell _ could she do that? The Truth sure wasn’t lying when he said that he was sending Ed somewhere that the rules of Equivalent Exchange wouldn’t apply, but that didn’t stop how incredibly unnerving he found the display before him. When the food was settled before him, he just looked at it, not really sure if he wanted to eat it, despite the growling of his stomach. 

 

“Well go on dear,” Molly said. “It’s not poisoned, I promise.”

 

Ed laughed uneasily. “Right, sorry, i’m just not… used to my food appearing out of nowhere, I guess. I’m still getting used to this whole ‘magic’ thing.”

 

Ron blinked. “You mean you’re a muggle?”

 

“What?”

 

“A non-magical person.” Hermione interjected. She had ceased her pacing, choosing instead to lean against the counter, although she still seemed agitated. “People who aren’t witches or wizards.”

 

“No, no, you all. He’s not a muggle, Madame Pomfrey did an examination of his magical core.”

 

Ed paled. “I have a… magical core?”

 

“Well of course, dear. You’re a wizard.”

 

Ed shook his head. “No. No, I’m not a… a  _ wizard. _ I’m an alchemist. A scientist.”

 

It was Ginny who spoke now. “An alchemist? I thought alchemy died out centuries ago. It wasn’t even a real branch of magic anyway.”

 

Ed grit his teeth. “It’s not  _ magic, _ it’s science. It’s - ” He stopped, and dropped his face into his hands. He took a few deep, shuddering breaths. “I’m sorry. It’s just been… a hard few days, I guess. I don’t mean to come off as such an asshole.”

 

There were a few raised eyebrows at his language. And an uncomfortable silence stretched. Great. Ed had just effectively murdered whatever conversation may have been brewing. Him and his goddamn temper.

 

Harry had been silent the whole conversation so far, but it was him who spoke now. “If you don’t mind me asking, what  _ did _ happen to you/ I thought you were dead when I first found you.”

 

Ah. So that’s why he looked familiar. 

 

Ed hesitated. He rarely ever told his story, back home it was out of necessity, he could be executed for what he and Al had done. But here, there was no alchemy, so there was no penalty for human transmutation. And if he wanted to make use of this world’s resources to try and find a way home, he might as well be honest. After all, these people had grown up in this world, grown up with magic, and even though Ed was a genius, he wasn’t arrogant enough to think that he would be able to become more knowledgeable than them in their own field, not for years at least, and he had no intentions of staying around that long. He would need their help if he was going to find a way back home, bt they wouldn’t be any help to his research if they didn’t know what they were trying to find. 

 

He took a deep breath, and began. “I’m going to need your help,” He said, looking up at them. They had sensed the shift in mood, and  were all paying close attention to his words. “And for you to be able to help me, you’re going to need to know my story. It’s a long one, and it’s complicated. Some of it might not make sense, but please bear with me til the end, and I’ll answere any questions you have” They were still following, he got a few nods, and so he continued. 

 

“I was born and raised in the town of Resembool, in Eastern Amestris. My mother’s name is Trish, and I have a younger brother named Alphonse. My father walked out on us when we were only a few years old, so most of our childhood it was just us and mom. And then she died. We were heartbroken, and we decided to use alchemy to try and bring her back. 

 

“We found a teacher, and spent years training, and perfecting our craft. Eventually, we thought we were ready, and we tried to bring her back. It didn’t work. I found myself in a strange place, all white with a huge set of black doors. There was a being there, who called itself ‘Truth,’ and it shoved all the knowledge in the world down into my brain, and then took my leg as payment. It took Al’s whole body, but I managed to bond his soul to a suit of armor, and for that I lost my arm.”

 

He could feel their gazes heavy on h is automail. 

 

“I knew I had fucked up, and I knew I needed to fix it. So I got automail, my prosthetics, and then I joined the military. I was only twelve, but state alchemists get access to money and research that I never would have been able to access otherwise. Our goal was to find a way to create the Philosopher’s Stone, so that we could bypass the law of Equivalent Exchange, the laws of alchemy, and get our bodies back. But then we found out that the main ingredient on the creation of a stone is human souls.

 

“But we were determined to find another way, and so we kept on looking. Instead of finding another way to make the stone, though, we just ended up getting ourselves in trouble with some very bad people. Humunculi, artificially created humans, named after the seven deadly sins. We discovered their plot, to turn the entirety of the country into a transmutation circle for a philosophers stone, using everyone inside it as fuel. The corruption goes all the way to the head of the military, and things got out of hand really fast. I was up in the north, when I got into a fight in an old mine. The mine collapsed, and I was impaled by one of the beams. I managed to remove it, and to superficially heal my wounds, but I miscalculated, and I ended up in front of that gate again. The Truth only said he was going to send me somewhere far away, where the law of Equivalent Exchange didn’t apply. I woke up here.”

 

There was stunned silence all around. It was Harry who finally spoke. 

 

“So do you mean you’re…” He trailed of, incredulous. 

 

Ed squared his shoulders, and looked around the table, eyes blazing. 

 

“I am not from this world,” He stated. “And I need your help to get back home.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed departs for Hogwarts, and has some feelings about Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> So this chapter covers a lot. One of the things I hate about crossover fics, especially HP crossovers, since they tend to follow the events of a particular book, is when the fic gets caught up in telling every part of the originally book that it is following and ends up with a bunch of chapters that dont really get anything accomplished for the character that has been thrown into the different universe. ie, for most FMA/HP fics that I've read, the next several chapters would be stories of Ed going to Diagon Alley, and taking a really long time to find a want that works for him. And then learning all of the magic that has taken the other characters 5 years to master in a week. And managing to also squeeze in an encounter with a boggart or dementor, and some unlikely feats of athletecism and or heroism that make all the girls swoon, and all the boys suspicious. And just generally be boring, and not advance the plot at all. I hate when fics do this, and so I made the choice to just skip the fuck over it all. I will admit that it is not the best transition, and there's some fairly clunky exposition used to jam everything in there, but I stand by my choice. Because I hate reading that type of stuff almost as much as I know I would hate writing it. 
> 
> On a side note, sorry about the delay between updates. RL hit me pretty hard over the head, and I had several hellishly crazy busy weeks followed by a very persistent sickness cause by overworking myself, and I just started a new job, and life has been about all I can handle for the last while. That being said, things have finally started to settle down, so expect more updates soon. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please drop a comment below!

A heavy silence settled over the table after Ed’s statement, weighted with the unspoken questions of all those in the room. Ed, never one to waste good food, dug into the plate in front of him, which had gone very regrettably untouched during his story.  There were an assortment of greens, some carrots and potatoes, a slab of what looked like meatloaf, and, thank god, nothing remotely dairyish. Ignoring the silence that still lingered - Ed could practically feel it’s needy little fingers begging for attention, in a metaphorical sort of way, of course - he speared a chunk of the meat and brought it to his mouth.

 

Holy shit. Holy  _ shit. _

 

The meatloaf he was currently eating had to be the best damn meatloaf Ed had ever tasted. It was moist, but not soggy, firm, and savory, perfectly seasoned with just a little bit of a kick, a veritable chorus of rich meaty flavor and soft subtle spices. He froze, chewing slowly with an intense look of concentration on his face, then swallowed. He slowly looked up, to find the whole table still staring at him, waiting for him to give them more answers. Ed, however, had more important matters to discuss.

 

“Lady,” he said, finally breaking the silence, which had reached an almost insufferable level of poetic weight, “This is the best fucking meatloaf I have ever tasted.”

 

There were scattered gasps around the table - Ed guessed they weren’t the kind to hear too much swearing - and Molly looked horribly turned between anger at his language, flattery at the praise. In the end, she settled for both/

 

“Well thank you, Edward dear, I’m glad you enjoy it.” And then, “But do try to watch your language. We do not tolerate that kind of cursing in this house.”

 

Edward went a little pink, and muttered an apology. Edward knew that, realistically, he was likely a fair match for anyone in this room if it came to a fight - more than a fair match, in most cases - but there was something about Molly Weasley that awoke a small frightened little boy inside of him, and shook it into submission. Maybe it was because she reminded him of his own other. A bit plumper, to be sure, and more fiery, but with the same motherly, nurturing presence that had always made him feel so safe at home, back when his mom was still alive at least. 

 

“Sorry, mrs. Weasley,” he replied, with a small, bashful grin. “Old habits, you know?”

 

She tutted. “Well I don’t know what kind of habits they taught you where you came from, but over here, that is no way a young man like yourself should be speaking. Now finish up your food, all of you, and we can talk more about this once you’re all done.”

 

Ed had no argument against going back to his meal, and the others were soon digging into plates of their own, with much the same gusto. There were small bursts of chatter here and there, a few mild, surface level questions thrown Ed’s way, and soon Mrs. Weasley was clearing away the plates in the same magical manner in which she had summoned them to begin with. Food eaten and plates gone, the group of wizards, witches, and Ed settled in for a long, complicated discussion. 

 

Harry was the first to ask a question, and he started with the most obvious matter. 

 

“Do you have any idea how to get home?”

 

Ed sighed and shook his head. “No, I don’t. Like I told you, I came here through the portal of truth, and the only way I know to open it is human transmutation, which is not an option. I have the beginnings of some theories but… Well, I’m going to need a lot of time, and probably a better understanding of your magic. And books,” he added. “As many books as I can get my hands on.”

 

The brown haired girl’s eyes had begun to sparkle, and she jumped in eagerly. “If it’s books you need, I can get you started with some of mine. I don’t have anything particularly advanced, not with me at least, but I could get you started on the basics.” 

 

Ed sent her a smile. “That would be great, thanks.” SHe blushed slightly, and nodded.

 

“If you need somewhere with books to do your research, then it might make sense for you to come to Hogwarts,” Ron pointed out, looking around the table for approval. “There’s nowhere else that’s got a library as good as Hogwarts, and Ed’d have the professors to help him out. We could ask Dumbledore, he’d probably agree.”

 

Ed let out a sharp snort. “What sort of name is Hogwarts? Is that really the name of your school?”

 

Most of the people gathered around the table looked vaguely offended, but Hermione gave him a soft smile. 

 

“I thought it sounded a bit ridiculous too, the first time I heard of it. I’m muggleborn, you see, I wasn’t raised in the wizarding world, so unlike this lot I’d never heard of Hogwarts until I got my letter. I thought it was a prank at first.” She turned to Ron. “It’s not a bad idea, Ron, it’s worth at least sending Dumbledore and owl. Although, we don’t even know if Edward’s a wizard or not…”

 

The conversation quickly turned into a heated debate that Ed had no interest in taking part, choosing instead to muse over Hermione’s last comment. She may not know whether or not Edward was a wizard, but Ed was fairly sure that he did. Madame Pomfrey’s comments from the night before made it fairly clear that he had a magical core, which he assumed made the difference between a wizard and a non wizard, and if she was to be believed Ed’s magical core was fairly large, and probably quite powerful. Anyway, it wasn’t something he felt the need to share with the rest of the table, at least for now. 

 

Eventually, it was decided that yes, an owl would be sent to Dumbledore, and Molly bustled off to write said owl. Ed stayed at the table a while longer, making conversation with the teens, who seemed fascinated by him and his life story. Ed realised that he hadn’t spent much time with people his own age for longer than he could remember, with the exception of Al and Winry, and he wasn’t sure they really counted. To the average teenager (although Harry, Ed was coming to find out, was not quite average himself), Ed supposed he must actually seem… cool. Dangerous. Exciting. 

 

He felt a wry smile twist across his face. If only they knew. They’d barely scratched the surface of all the million kinds of fucked up that was Edward Elric, and Ed was perfectly content to keep it that way. 

_____________________

 

Two weeks later found Ed sitting aboard the Hogwarts Express, a brand new wand tucked into his pocket, and his nose buried in the latest of a long line of books that he had been devouring with unparalleled ferocity. Harry and Ron had been shocked by the rate at which he had been tearing through the book Hermione provided for him, while Hermione had looked immensely pleased. Dumbledore had given Ed permission to begin practicing some basic spells, under the tutelage of Mrs. Weasley, and Ed had done nothing but study since he had gotten his wand, advancing by leaps and bounds. In the two weeks he had been at the burrow, he had managed to draw roughly equal to a third-year level of magic, a feat which had astounded the entire Weasley household. He was perfectly sound on the theory, although his practical application was a bit inconsistent, something Molly had assured him would improve only with practice. 

 

About an hour into the train ride, Ed found himself at the end of his book, which was, regrettably, the only one he had with him that he had not already read. Feeling his eyes burning from tiredness and overuse, he elected not to delve back into the covers of a book he had already read. The carriage was occupied by Harry, as well as a somewhat chubby, black haired boy, and a dreamy eyed, blond haired girl, who Ed vaguely remembered being introduced to, but whose names, for the time being, eluded him. Ron and Hermione had parted from them when they boarded the train, something about a prefects’ carriage, which had left Ed alone with Harry and two strangers, both of whom had been deemed trustworthy by the Harry, and filled in on Ed’s backstory, or at least the basics. Now, book finished, Ed chose to simply sit back and observe the new witch and wizard before him. They appeared to be close friends with Harry, talking and laughing quietly with Harry. They were discussing their grades from the previous year, and the black haired boy - Neville, Ed was reminded - seemed particularly concerned that he wouldn’t be able to take Transfigurations this year. 

 

A few minutes into this discussion and Ron and Hermione reappeared, pushing into the carriage and plopping themselves onto the seat beside Ed. 

 

“I wish the lunch trolley would hurry up, Ron groused. “I’m starving.” He said a quick hello to Neville and Luna - that was the girl’s name - before turning to Harry. “Guess what?”

Ed saw Harry’s interest pique, and he too turned his attention towards the redhead. Ron continued.

 

“Malfoy’s not doing his prefect duties, he’s just sitting in the compartment with the other Slytherins. I saw him when we passed by.”

 

And Ed immediately felt his interest wane. He had heard all about Draco Malfoy over the past few weeks. Apparently, he was a bully and a snob, and, according to Harry, now a death eater, one of the followers of the evil dark wizard Voldemort who wanted to take over the wizarding world. Ed couldn’t help but find Harry’s accusations a bit over the top - at least from what he’d heard of Malfoy from the others, he sounded like a bully, but also a coward. Certainly not evil. He, however, had never met the boy before, so He would have to reserve his judgement til he did. 

 

Ron and Harry were still talking, Ron pantomiming the rude gesture that Malfoy had reportedly made at him as they passed by his carriage. 

 

“Not like him, though, is it. I mean  _ this -  _ “ the gesture again -  “Sure, but why isn’t he out there bullying first years?”

 

Harry seemed lost in thought, Ed could practically see his mind racing. “Dunno,” He said, simply. 

 

“Maybe he preferred the Inquisitorial squad,” Hermione interjected. “After that, maybe the Prefects seem a bit tame.” 

 

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think - “

 

Before he could continue, he was cut off by the door to the carriage sliding open, and a young girl poking her head inside, holding two scrolls of paper. 

 

“I’m supposed to deliver these to Neville Longbottom and Harry P-Potter.” She squeaked out, breathless and starstruck. Harry gave her an uncomfortable, bashful sort of grin, and took the scrolls, and the girl stumbled back out of the compartment, staring at Harry the whole way. 

 

The scrolls turned out to be invitations to Lunch with Professor Slughorn, the new teacher that Harry had helped Dumbledore recruit, and son the two boys were bustling out of the compartment, leaving Ed with Ron, Hermione, and Luna. 

 

“So Ed,” Hermione said as soon as the door slid closed behind them. “What house do you think you’ll be sorted into?”

 

Ed shrugged, unconcerned. “I don’t know, I don’t really care either. The whole house system seems a little bit bullshit anyway. I mean, you take all these young kids, split them up into groups based on personality, and expect it  _ not _ to turn into a bunch of bullying and pissing contests?” Ed slouched a little further down in his seat. “I don’t know if I’ll even be in a house anyway, I’m not gonna be attending as a normal student, so what’s the point.”

 

Hermione seemed offended. “The point of having a house is that it’s your family while you’re at school. It’s a group of fellow students who you can rely on to support you and to have your back.”

 

Ed scoffed softly. “Whatever.” he said, gaze firmly fixed on the window. “Like I said, I don’t really care about which house I end up in. I don’t plan on spending much time here, I’m getting home as soon as I can.” Here he swallowed, eyes turning sad. “I left my world in a pretty bad place, and I’ve got people I need to get back to.”

 

Al. Winry. Mustang. All the countless citizens of Amestris who would die if Ed couldn’t stop the Humunculi’s plans. He had to get back, before everything came crashing down in his absence. God he hoped everyone was alright. If any of them ended up dying because his stupidity got him landed in another fucking world, Ed didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive himself. 

 

The other’s in the compartment seemed to sense his foul mood, because they quickly turned the conversation away from him, talking quietly among themselves, and leaving Ed to wallow in his thoughts. 

 

How were, they, over in Ed’s world anyway. When Ed had left his friends had just split up, headed in different directions with different mission. Winry with Scar and the others, making their way through the tunnels under Baschool. Al fighting through a snowstorm all alone to find them. And Mustang… Ed hadn’t seen him since that night in the car. He can still remember it in pristine detail, From the moment Mustang had pulled up to the curb, something urgent and unreadable in his face. It had been strange, seeing him out of uniform. He had seemed more human, somehow, more vulnerable. In the uniform, with a smug smirk plastered over his face, he seemed untouchable, but now, bent over a steering wheel with his brow furrowed in worry and concentration, he seemed much more approachable. And when he had switched topic, demanding his money back and then nearly throwing a fit over a measly 20 cen difference, Ed had felt something tighten in his chest. He had grown up a lot since he first came under Mustang’s command, and for the first time, Ed had found himself coming to full appreciate that under all the swagger and bravado and his general assholish facade, Mustang was just another human like all the rest of him, trying his hardest in a world that never gave any of them a break. And especially after learning the true story of what had happened in Ishval… 

 

Ed’s hand had clenched almost involuntarily around the gold in his hand, and when he spoke he had felt himself desperately hoping that Mustang would understand what he meant, under the cocksure grin and antagonistic words. I see who you are now, I understand. And i have your back. I believe in your cause. I believe in what you’re trying to do. And the way Mustang’s eyes had glinted as he looked at Ed, the sharp flash of understanding, had been exhilarating. It had sent a rush of something unnameable through Ed, which had left him shaken. And the grin that Mustang had given him before he pulled away from the curb, had set his heart racing. Because in that grin, Ed had seen it all reflected back at him. Just had he had come to see Mustang clearly, in that one look, Mustang told Ed that he saw him too. They had come to a mutual understanding and all of a sudden everything felt… different. That exchange with the colonel had been unlike any he’d had before. They had met not as commanding officer and subordinate, and not as friends either, but as something different. Something charged and powerful, something that Ed had never experienced before. As the colonel had sped away, Al had remarked. “Wow, brother. It looks like the colonel is finally starting to treat you as an equal.” An Ed had felt a small fire flicker to life inside him. 

 

Mustang’s equal. 

 

He liked that.


End file.
